Drunk Spells and Rainy Nights
by Blonde Pickle Mule
Summary: What had she been thinking: kissing someone she barely knew, drunk off her head in the middle of Hogsmeade? It didn't help that Morag had liked Seamus for years.


**This was done for the Hogwarts Online Prompt of the Day- rainy nights _Extra Prompts: _Cant take it any more, it takes two to tango, love me for me. I tried to use a lesser known character this time.**

**Disclaimer: I shall never own Harry Potter, even if I throw tantrums and scream about it.**

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Ever since she was a child, Morag MacDougal had loved rainy nights. There was something about the sound of heavy drops hitting the glass as she sat in a dark room up against a window, with some thunder and lightning if she was lucky. It had been one of those nights the day her dog died when she was five, and again when her parents got a divorce.

Every time something had rocked Morag's world the rain had been there, soothing her with its thrumming and fresh, clean smell. It was here now, as she sat in her favourite little alcove on a worn window seat, tears streaming down her face just as they did outside.

She thought back to just a few hours ago, the Three Broomsticks etched into her mind with the ferocity of a red hot poker. She had been there by herself, both her friends having gone off with their dates to celebrate the end of the second war. It had only been a few days really, and Morag didn't really understand how they could be so happy.

They'd lost so much, so many friends and comrades, brothers and sisters who would never come home. Morag's own mother, a "mudblood" as she was so crudely coined, had been pushed into Azkaban before you could say Quidditch! She'd been driven round the bend, stuck in St Mungo's for life. And Padma...her best friend was dead, mutated where she lay by the doors of her school. Seeing Lisa and Anne so happy was almost more than she could bear.

So there she'd sat at the bar, a bottle of firewhiskey resolutely in her hand as she realised she really couldn't take it any more. She hadn't planned on drinking the whole lot of course, but then he'd come parading in and plonked down next to her. Seamus Finnigan. The boy she'd so admired over the past few months (more than before, anyway). He was obviously trying to forget too, with dark circles under his eyes and tousled sandy hair.

He knew her, briefly, from the DA meetings they'd taken part in together and tried to talk to her. Morag had taken some persuading, but she liked the guy and what was the worst that could happen? She wasn't sure when it had happened but soon the both of them were drunk off their heads. Morag was even less sure who had kissed who first, but it had happened and suddenly she'd crashed back into reality. What was she thinking?

She'd kissed a boy who barely knew her, was drunk out of her mind and in a public place. Just looking at Seamus she knew the worst bit was that he wouldn't remember any of it, and (all things considered) he really wasn't that bad a kisser. So Morag had run- apperated back to her father's empty house, run to the library and curled up here.

She wanted so badly to be able to blame Finnigan for seducing her while she was out of it, but as her mother's voice whispered with relish at the back of her mind- _it takes two to tango. _She'd liked the stupid fool for a few years now and knew him far better than she'd ever let on, but she'd never really talked to him, never bothered to say hello whenever they passed. Then this had happened. Morag was sure he'd never even want to look at her again (if he even remembered what she looked like) and she'd had a tiny taste of what she could have had. She fell asleep there in the window, head pressed up against the glass with her black curls in a messy halo.

When she woke up it was with a pounding head and the loud ringing of the doorbell. Her mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust. Morag moaned as she got to her feet and stumbled from the library and down the hall. If this was a journalist come to ask about the DA...they wouldn't live to see next week. The small Scots woman flung open the door and caught it with her foot, squinting blearily into the bright morning sunshine. There, on her doorstep, was Seamus Finnigan. It took all her strength not to slam the door shut in his face.

"Hi...you're Morag, right?" She internally groaned. Could this get any worse? He barely even knew her _name. _When she nodded the Irishman ploughed on. "I just wanted to...apologise for last night."

Morag's heart softened as she looked at the apologetic young man. She swallowed her pride and tried to brush off the situation. "I-It's alright Seamus." She swallowed her pride and mortification again when he looked surprised she knew his name. "Do you maybe want to come in for some tea? You look like you could use it."

Scottish bluntness- comes up at the worst times. Thankfully, he didn't look offended, but nodded and Morag stepped back, hardly daring to believe her luck as he ambled in. It might not amount to anything, but at least nobody could say she hadn't tried. She wasn't hoping for one of those silly "but he loves me for me!" romances, being in Ravenclaw hadn't taught her nothing after all. Morag was just hoping for something, anything. He'd remembered her name hadn't he (if only barely)?

From the kitchen there came a loud curse word and a clatter of pans and she smiled. Maybe she should get drunk more often.

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**Personally? I think this one's a little bleh. I don't know if I described a hangover at all correctly, or if my mad skills (HAHAHA, I amuse myself. Mad skills? Who am I kidding?) were at all good today. Well...I tried.**


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